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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27477505">Beer and Licenses</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostresidentevilpotter/pseuds/lostresidentevilpotter'>lostresidentevilpotter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fear the Walking Dead (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:47:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,124</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27477505</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostresidentevilpotter/pseuds/lostresidentevilpotter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing moments between Al and Dwight leading into 6x03. </p>
<p>Or, Al and Dwight become best buds.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Althea &amp; Dwight, Althea/Isabelle (Fear the Walking Dead)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Beer and Licenses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this really quickly during last night's episode. Don't judge lol. This is pretty different from what I've written otherwise, in that it mainly focuses on a friendship (between Al and Dwight, no less), and I really haven't written Dwight much. Let me know what you think!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m sorry. You must be getting tired of hearing about my wife all the time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al hums, swallows her mouthful of the shitty beer of the week. This has become something like a routine for her and Dwight. That in itself is kind of wild. They’ve gone from barely speaking to basically being each other’s number one confidant. Mostly when intoxicated, though, and mostly when they should be doing their jobs instead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Al assures him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I feel like I do all the talking,” Dwight replies. He takes another sip of his beer, makes a face. “God, this one is really disgusting.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Better than nothing.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dwight scoffs but nods in agreement. They’re sitting amongst the wreckage of what used to be a settlement in a truck stop, of all places. Brings back unpleasant memories for Al, but she keeps it to herself. Dwight’s right. He does most of the talking, and she listens. She doesn’t mind. Quite the contrary, actually. It’s in her nature. She likes hearing about his life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They always keep the cameras off whenever they have their talks. It’s a necessity. For their safety, absolutely, but it also lets them speak freely. It lets them feel free, and maybe that’s more important.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t want you to think I won’t listen, is all,” Dwight says. “I’m more than happy to.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al hesitates, beer bottle lifted halfway to her lips. She thinks about Isabelle every day. And maybe it’s not healthy to constantly remind herself of what she’s lost – and tracking Isabelle’s movements via walkie is definitely not healthy <em>or </em>safe behavior – but Al can’t help herself. She’s chasing the chance at that <em>feeling </em>again. The chance at feeling <em>alive</em>, at feeling like she’s doing more than just surviving. She hasn’t dared to get close to bringing up Isabelle with anyone, at least not since she alluded to feeling something for a person when Al spoke with June. But hearing Isabelle’s voice over the walkie, thinking about her – it’s wearing away at Al’s ability to keep her mouth shut. Even so, Al knows it’s too risky to say anything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m missing thirty one states,” Al informs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” Dwight laughs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al sets her beer aside and reaches into her jacket, pulls out the wad of licenses held together by a rubber band. She tosses the stack onto the table separating them and turns sideways in the booth, spreading her legs out in front of her and leaning back against the wall.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s fucked up, probably, but I’ve started collecting licenses off bodies,” Al admits. “I’m trying to find all fifty states.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dwight shuffles through the stack, looks mildly impressed. “It’s definitely fucked up,” he says. “And you have a major head start. But maybe we should make this into a little…competition.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al grins. “Oh, you’re on.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck! Another Colorado,” Dwight complains. Before he can toss the license aside, Al snatches it from his hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you,” she says. She adds it to her stack. “I’m officially halfway,” she announces. “I’ve got twenty five states here, buddy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m catching up,” Dwight argues. “I’m at sixteen.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al laughs. They’ve cleared out the mansion, filmed as much as they could, reported back to Ginny’s Rangers. They always somehow end up speaking to that one asshole. Al can’t even think of his name – it’s probably better that way. But it’s always the same guy who calls them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Maybe we should spend the night here,” Al suggests. “Instead of in the truck. This place is incredible.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al and Dwight have had an unspoken agreement since they were first handed this assignment. They don’t talk about the tragedy they’re obviously standing amongst. They don’t talk about how this was someone’s home, how they’re clearing out the bodies of the people who perished here when the place came crashing down. If they talk about how fucked up this all is, they’ll start to lose their grip on reality, probably. So they have to keep things light.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Guess we should pick out our bedrooms then, huh?” Dwight jokes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, I want the one that’s painted that awful shade of pink,” Al says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al shrugs. “A color like that must’ve made someone happy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You know, you’re a little strange sometimes, Al,” Dwight says, a teasing smile on his face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve been collecting licenses off dead people,” Al points out, “and you’re just noticing this now?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Keeps things interesting,” Dwight says. “You up for a slumber party?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Only if we’re stealing the booze we found instead of reporting it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The mansion, despite being a fallen settlement, feels safe. Maybe that’s why Al allows herself to blow past what she knows is her limit. She finishes off her fifth beer, drops the bottle to the floor and laughs when it shatters. She stares at the ugly pink walls, and even though she presses her palms flat against the mattress beneath her, the world is kind of spinning. She shouldn’t have laid her head down at the opposite end of the mattress. When she looks to her right, she lays eyes on Dwight’s boots, covered in dirt and who knows what sort of other muck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She shouldn’t judge. Her boots aren’t in much better shape, and they’re resting on the pillow next to Dwight’s head at the other end of the bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She really shouldn’t have drank so much. Just as Dwight finishes up with his usual spiel about Sherry, Al hears herself say, “You know, I met this lady once.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You met a lady?” Dwight questions.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, not too long ago. We weren’t together long, but she…uh, she made an impression.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, where is she?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Al murmurs. Her vision blurs, and she blinks until it clears again. “I mean, I hear her on the walkie sometimes, but that’s it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why don’t you find her?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s a little more complicated than that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why?” Dwight presses.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t tell you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a pause before Dwight says, “That’s awfully mysterious, Al.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al laughs a little, tries not to let it turn into anything near crying. “Yeah, I know. I shouldn’t have even brought it up. I’m not supposed to say anything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s been on your mind, though.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Al admits. “It’s just – you and I sit around and have beers, and I shared a beer with…this lady. When I was with her.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can’t even tell me a name?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s safer if I don’t. The less you know, the better. I’m not even supposed to know she exists.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s – sorry, I don’t even know what to say.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Al dismisses. “I’m just – I felt like I owed you an explanation for why I’ve been sort of distant.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Because you’ve been thinking about this…beer lady?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al laughs, clutching at her stomach. “Yes, but don’t call her that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dwight chuckles and nudges Al’s arm with his boot. “No, I’m definitely calling her that now. Beer Lady.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dwight!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They both laugh, and Al feels like a massive weight has been lifted off her chest. Not all of the weight. Of course not. But some of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can I be honest?” Dwight says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I thought that was the whole point of this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay, you asked for it. Honestly, I was…let’s say <em>not thrilled</em> to be assigned to this job with you. At first. I guess I just judged you before I really knew you. But now…I think we’ve actually become something like friends, Al.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al lets his words sink in for a bit before she says, “Ditto.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ditto?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They laugh again, and Al concedes, “Fine, yeah, we’re friends. Whatever. Glad we sorted that one out. But hey, we’re drinking together and technically, we’re sharing a bed, so if we weren’t friends before, we better be friends now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can sleep on the floor,” Dwight offers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t bother. Besides, there’s broken glass everywhere now. Sorry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just don’t roll off the bed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al’s starting to wonder if everyone from Alaska and Hawaii died in their respective states and stayed there. Surely <em>some </em>people had traveled from Hawaii and Alaska before everything ended and then died somewhere in the contiguous United States. And surely some of their bodies traveled down to Texas. But maybe not. Al hasn’t seen a single Alaska or Hawaii license, and it’s starting to piss her off. She’s so close to completing her fucked up collection. Dwight’s still trailing behind her, but watching him find licenses to add to his collection is getting very irritating.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Aha,” Dwight announces. He holds the card up for Al to see. “Montana. That puts me at thirty five.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck you,” Al replies. Dwight snorts, and Al can’t quite hide her smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Afraid I can’t do that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, don’t even start!” Al laughs. She shakes her head. “Let’s just finish this shit up and get moving.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They film the inside of the school, kill the walkers they missed in their initial sweep, and switch the cameras back off as they step outside. It’s a nice day. Light breeze. Not overwhelmingly hot.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Any news on Beer Lady?” Dwight asks, jamming his hands into his pockets.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stop calling her that,” Al says automatically, like she does every time. He doesn’t listen. Probably never will. It doesn’t actually bother Al, though. “Beer Lady” is better than any alternative, she supposes. Better than Dwight knowing Isabelle’s actual name. “Beer Lady” is safe, could be anyone. “No,” Al finally answers. “Haven’t heard anything in days. But you know, she switches channels a lot. Or she’s out of range. Not sure, honestly.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’ll see her again,” Dwight says. He sounds confident. So confident, it startles Al.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You just gotta keep the faith,” Dwight advises. “I keep telling myself I’m going to find Sherry. It helps – on the good days, at least. So, you know, just tell yourself you’re gonna find her, get to be with her one day. Might help.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al inhales sharply. “Worth a shot, I suppose.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It seems they’ve been talking more and more during the day while they’re sober. Like some sort of invisible barrier that was between them has shattered, and now they’re actual friends and just say what’s on their minds. No alcohol needed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We should take off,” Dwight says. “It’ll get dark soon.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al waits until they’re back in the truck before she says, “It’s weird…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dwight fires up the engine then pauses, raising his eyebrows when Al trails off and doesn’t continue. She stares out the windshield as if in a daze, lost in thought, maybe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s weird?” Dwight prompts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hearing her voice on the walkie – <em>Beer Lady’s </em>voice – it’s weird how it’s comforting, on one hand, but – but it’s also fucking torture.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I get it,” Dwight says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And then I go days not hearing her voice, and I can’t –” Al’s teeth sink into her lower lip, and she just shakes her head. “I don’t know. Forget I brought it up.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They pull onto the road, and Dwight says, “It makes sense, what you’re saying.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al cracks a smile. “Ginny didn’t realize when she paired us up that we have quite a bit in common.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dwight grins. “Her mistake.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why don’t you just find her and run away with her?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al grunts. She was mostly asleep, just about to drop off completely into a nightmare, probably. Usually when she closes her eyes, she’s treated to a variety of nightmare scenarios. And the more Al talks about Beer Lady with Dwight, the more appearances Isabelle seems to make in Al’s dreams.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know you’re up.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al grunts again and rolls over in her sleeping bag, squinting through the darkness over at where Dwight’s laid out. The nights they spend on the floor of one settlement or another are never the best nights, though they tend to be a slight step up from sleeping in the truck. All the shit they haul makes for a cramped space. And at least Al has a sleeping bag, even if the floor is fucking up her back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” Al says. “Find…Beer Lady and run away? That’s ridiculous.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why?” Dwight questions.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, for one, Ginny would hunt me down and gut me,” Al answers. “Or worse.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not if she thinks you’re dead.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has a point, but they’re shifting into dangerous territory. Al needs to stay rooted in reality, and the reality is, she’s never going to get a life with Isabelle. She may never even get a life outside of the Pioneers, at this point. Dreaming of another life – a life she can’t have – only hurts her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t,” Al says. “And it’s dangerous to think like that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s the only thing keeping me going. Thinking I can find Sherry and have a life with her again.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You stand a much better chance than I do at actually achieving that,” Al replies.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Because your situation is complicated?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Very.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Right. But the world’s over. There really aren’t many rules anymore.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t go after her. It’s too dangerous.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al sighs heavily. “Her people are dangerous.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sounds like you’re just making excuses, Al.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Maybe.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Isabelle reappears on the walkie after ten excruciatingly long days. It’s a fluke that Al even hears Isabelle, honestly. It’s well past midnight, and Al’s walkie was left on a random channel. Dwight’s asleep – has been asleep for hours. And Al’s only awake because she happened to pull out of a nightmare. She wakes with a start, heart hammering in her throat, but she hears the voice. It’s quiet, and as Al scrambles for the walkie, she realizes how lucky she’s gotten. She thought she’d switched the walkie off altogether.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Apparently not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al rushes to get a flashlight, her notepad, and a pen. The person speaking isn’t Isabelle. The voice is much too deep. Al scribbles down everything he says – a bunch of jargon she can’t decipher. She still feels compelled to write it down. That’s probably the most dangerous thing she’s doing, but she supposes she could always just burn the notepad. And if she can’t destroy it, then obviously she’s dead anyway, and she might as well not worry about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Copy that,” Isabelle says. Her voice is sharp, sounds strained. Almost always sounds strained.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And watch yourself,” the other person says suddenly. “We’ve got another case of the plague here. No clue where it’s coming from.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Copy that,” Isabelle repeats. Al wishes she would say something <em>more</em>. Some days, Isabelle has lots to say. Most of it’s in some sort of code, but at least Al can listen to her voice. Those days are becoming fewer and farther between. There are a lot more days now where Isabelle just says <em>copy that </em>or <em>understood</em> or <em>got it</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The walkie goes silent, and Al adds at the bottom of her current page: <em>plague?? Bubonic plague??</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The last thing they need is an outbreak of another type of plague. Al thinks it’s more likely Ginny would shoot someone on the spot if they showed up carrying bubonic plague, even though Al knows for a fact that Ginny’s sitting on a massive stash of antibiotics.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Heads up,” Al says to Dwight while they’re packing their shit up in the morning. “Heard something on the radio about cases of ‘the plague,’ which I assume is –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bubonic plague,” Dwight finishes. He slings his backpack over his shoulder. “Wonderful. Just what we need.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al cracks not long after that night and starts explicitly attempting to track Isabelle’s movements. At least Al can acknowledge what she’s doing is maybe a little bit creepy. But nothing about this situation is normal, so maybe an exception can be made. Rather than listening just for Isabelle’s voice, Al puts more effort into tracking <em>all </em>of the voices that are coming from Isabelle’s people. Starts trying to work out their code.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Turns out, she’s kind of good at this sort of thing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It helps that she’s been writing down as much as she can. Now, she’s really just filling in gaps. She starts tying names to actual locations after spending hours poring over a map. Frankly, Al’s too smart for her own good, but there’s no harm done as long as this notepad stays with her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al starts carrying a box of matches on her as well, just as an extra precaution.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Any update on Beer Lady?” Dwight asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I could probably find her,” Al says nonchalantly. “You know, if I really wanted to.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>What</em>?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t,” Al says quickly. “Obviously. But I know she’s in the general area. I don’t know, I guess that can be enough, right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look,” Dwight says, slapping his palms against the steering wheel. “If I knew Sherry was ‘in the general area,’ I’d be searching nonstop for her!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I told you –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, it’s complicated. But isn’t it worth a shot, even if you just get to see her for a little while?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al purses her lips. “Maybe, but it’s too risky. I can’t put you in danger like that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m offering to help,” Dwight says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think I should help you find Sherry first. Then we can go on my suicide mission.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goddamn it, the more Dwight pushes, the more Al’s starting to think he’s right. She should at least try to see Isabelle. Even if that means she’ll end up dead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then Al finds the Alaska license, and it all just feels like a sign. She’s made enough excuses. But the people in the building are obviously infected with bubonic plague, and Dwight starts showing symptoms, and Al can’t bring herself to allow Isabelle to land here and put her in danger, too. It’s not really an excuse, but Al is torn between wanting to kick herself and feeling immensely relieved.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She doesn’t know what she would’ve said to Isabelle, anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They find Sherry, and that’s a considerable win for them. Al’s happy for Dwight. He crossed the country to find his wife, and it’s finally happening. By the time Al meets Sherry personally, shakes her hand, Al feels like she already knows her. She’s spent the last few months hearing all about her from Dwight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We found Sherry,” Dwight says to Al later, when they’re sharing a beer. Sherry’s asleep a few feet away, buried in Dwight’s sleeping bag.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah?” Al says. “I know. I was there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I mean, we’ve found my wife,” Dwight says. “Now we can work on finding your Beer Lady.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Al cracks a smile. “Yeah, okay,” she says quietly. Dwight grins and holds his bottle out towards Al. Al gently taps her bottle against his, finishes off the beer. This one actually isn’t so bad.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s no need to tell Dwight that the odds of Al reuniting with Isabelle are slim to none. They might as well enjoy the moment.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as possible!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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